


Journey's End:  Part 2

by Crystalliced



Series: Journey's End [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fighting, Fluff, Magic, Weapons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-09 21:30:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4364876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystalliced/pseuds/Crystalliced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freedom can mean different things to different people.</p><p>Will.<br/>Power.<br/>Control.  </p><p>In this world of five thousand people with virtually no limits but death, opinions will clash as people race to find their definition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reversed - Floor 25 Start - Lindsey

     One year, two months, six days.

     I clutch my rapier tightly in my hand as I run across the twenty-fifth floor, a flash of light to the untrained eye.  That’s how long it’s been since I’ve talked to him.  The person I want to meet again.

     One thousand, seven hundred ninety six.

     That’s how many people have died in pursuit of freedom.  The idea itself varies.  Most want to escape, to defy what they perceive as confinement.  Others want to stay and fight to be the strongest in this world.

     Forty eight.

     That’s how many people I’ve had to personally kill, to keep myself alive...and to save my friends.   

      Friends.  Friend.  

      Sorry, Tyler.

      I don’t get to see my partner’s face as he shatters into crystal, my rapier piercing his heart from behind.  

      Make that forty nine.

      Tyler...how are you now?  What have you been up to?  Are you okay?

      I want to fight him, in a friendly duel, but I can’t get close to him.  I can’t predict his reaction if he sees me again, so I watch.  I watch the news screens and listen to the rumors, just another person in the throng while quietly supporting as a solo player, helping to clear the dungeons that block the entrance to the boss.

      I don’t go to those, though.  Tyler’s at each and every single one of them, and I can’t risk detection.  

     Sighing, I sheathe my blade.  It’s hopeless to think about things that will never happen.  

   _I just want to be his friend again._

     Trust is a valuable thing.  

**  
  
**

     “ _Let me go.”  I squirm as Blake’s hand traces the lines of my face, his other palm resting on my shoulder.  “Stop!”_

_He listens, rolling his eyes.  “I wasn’t even going to do anything.  This time.”  I don’t like it when he touches me.  It bothers me, makes me feel used.  Friends don’t do this to each other, right?_

_I don’t walk out, though, since he’s given me so much.  Freedom...safety...purpose.  It’s why I stay and why I fight for the Organization.  I wish he would stop, though, but he doesn’t listen._

_He never does, but I believe in him anyways, because he’s always right._

__**  
  
**

_Anna’s eyes meet mine, and I am altogether unprepared by the burning anger that flares to life inside of them._

_My hand flies to my blade and I move to defend myself, but she beats me before I can do either, tackling me from across the room as her hands fly around her throat and as her knee slams into my stomach._

_Black dots dance in my vision as my head is forcefully slammed into the wall, forcing me to wince.  Just barely in range, I can see Tyler walk into the room, his eyes hard as steel._

_“Where is she?”  Anna hisses._

_“I...don’t -- know!”  Her grip is cutting off almost all of my air and I can’t --_

_“Stop, Anna.  She doesn’t know.”  Tyler’s voice saves me as I drop to the floor, the grip around my throat released.  There’s something warm and wet on the back of my head...blood...?_

_Anna curses before spinning around and running off.  It wasn’t directed at me, just a general expression of frustration...but, ow._

_“You knew, didn’t you?”  There’s no warmth in Tyler’s voice as he spits the accusation out.  It’s true, though.  “That they were coming.  That’s why you distracted me, took me to a different area so that I wouldn’t be there to protect her.  Maybe you didn’t personally see the ambush through, both of them, but one thing’s certain.  We can’t trust you.  Not anymore.  After this mess is over...you can’t be in the party.”_

_My eyes flutter shut.  It’s happening, like I knew it would...but I didn’t want to do this.  I didn’t want this to happen..._

_“If you even want to try to redeem yourself...then help Ilya and I save Morena.  Abandon your past allegiances, your mission...and save the life of someone who considers you a friend.”  He walks away without a word._

_I try, but I can’t stop a muffled sob from escaping my throat as, unbidden, tears slide down my cheeks.  I..._

_There’s three other people I know in this inn, yet I feel so desperately alone._

__**  
  
**

_When Tyler and Ilya leave to save Morena (Anna stays behind.  She’s too exhausted to be of any help.) I follow, wishing to redeem myself.  Most of the journey is done in silence._

_For a second, the regal girl moves closer, glancing at me._

_“You need to choose.”  She whispers.  “Make the right choice.”  Tyler runs off, probably to get away from me, and, after a moment’s hesitation, she leaves to catch up to Tyler._

_Choose?  Ilya...you of all people should know that I can’t betray my mission objective, let alone Blake himself.  He would be so mad.  I can’t disappoint another friend, and you know that.  Tyler’s clearly decided that he hates me...so I’m going to stick to the people I trust and the people that trust me.  You know that, Ilya.  You know about my past.  Why...would you tell me to choose?_

_There’s no decision to be made, Ilya.  It’s already final._

__

_Tyler sprints across the room when he sees Morena.  I follow at a more relaxed pace._

_She’s alive?  But...wait.  Not quite.  There’s something wrong..._

_“This was your poison, wasn’t it?  Lindsey.”  Ilya asks me.  It’s my poison, yes, but I..._

_“I...he wasn’t supposed to...”  Blake wasn’t supposed to use the serum on Morena!  Why is she clearly showing signs of it?_

_“Disgusting.”  He spits out, and I take a step back, stunned by the pure malice in his voice._

_“How could you create something so horrible...?”  He whispers.  “To wake up and be surrounded by the people you care about without even knowing who they are?  Why?  Why?  WHY?”  By the end of this, he’s shouting, and I realize that I’ve somehow found my way onto the ground, on my knees, tears falling like broken glass._

_Why am I so affected by his words?  I don’t understand!  We’re not -- we’re not really friends.  I just pretended to be his friend after I failed to kill him in our first confrontation!  Blake told me to do it if I failed, so I did it.  I don’t understand what’s happening.  Why am I crying?  I shouldn’t be crying!_

_Blake...Blake lied to me!  He wasn’t supposed to use it on them.  An unrelated project!  He said it was for an unrelated project!_

_The man in question finally arrives, twelve people trailing behind him.  I don’t recognize any of them, from my spot on the ground.  I wipe my face and hope that I look reasonably presentable as Tyler, Ilya, and Blake argue and insult each other._

_“Ah, Lindsey.  Care to join us?”  It’s time.  I glance at Tyler before I go, though.  He doesn’t say anything, his eyes betraying nothing.  With a heavy heart, I take my place._

__**  
  
**

_A rapid fire conversation ensues where Tyler and, surprisingly, Morena, try to convince me that Blake is lying to me._

_Blake’s own answers to my probing questions make me realize...to him, I was just a means to an end.  At that moment...my loyalty abruptly changes.  But...while I’m placed here, I have to make the most of it._

_Tyler and Ilya will prevail.  He’ll defeat me, and those twelve, while meant to counter Ilya, can’t possibly take her down.  She’s far too skilled for that._

_When Tyler defeats me...if he chooses to let me live and I escape, or he lets me go, I will be in the perfect spy role.  Blake will die, but it will not matter.  The Organization will not fall apart like Tyler probably expects._

_After all, Blake’s just a general...and there are three more of those, and, of course, the Leader._

_It’s settled, then.  I’ll have to fight.  But, this time, I won’t fight for Blake._

_I’ll fight for you, Tyler._

__

_I’m conscious to feel you brush your lips against mine, alert enough to hear the word that has been my driving motivation for a year, two months, and six days._

_Paralyzed, though.  I can’t even twitch, but I can hear your footsteps as you make your escape.  It takes a few minutes before I can move again, but when I finally have the strength to sit up, I don’t chase after you and apologize, like I want to._

_I think you’ve forgiven me on your own, haven’t you?_

_I want to be with you again, to find companionship, but I remember my role._

_Hiding myself once more will hurt...but I’ll do it.  For your sake._

**  
  
**

     “Lindsey?”  Ethan, my new superior, says.  “What happened?”  

   “There was an ambush.”  I reply, evenly.  “He didn’t make it.” **  
**


	2. Gathering -- Floor 25 -- Tyler

   “This...may be a problem.”  Anna muttered.  

      “No kidding.  This is really bad.”  I agreed.  Here we are, in the 25th boss room, ready to scout the boss to see what it can do...and the boss isn’t here.

     This, of course, would normally be okay, but the real issue here is the lack of a magical staircase.  The boss wasn’t defeated...but it’s not here.  

     The only reasonable explanation I can find for this is that the boss we’re supposed to fight is freely roaming around the floor...or, worse, the entire world.  This...this is a problem.

     “Is this even supposed to be possible?”  Ilya wondered, the question directed towards Anna.  Her knowledge as far as the Book goes has proven to be increasingly useful as time goes on.

     “Bosses aren’t normally supposed to leave the room, unless to chase a fleeing player.”  I frown, but she isn’t done.  “And even then, only for a short distance.”  This is presumably to prevent a person from using a boss as a method to kill others or to purposely stall the floor progress.

     “Unless this boss is really weak, there’s no way that any player should be able to fight it off for long.  There’s only one entrance to the room, so we would have definitely run into it if that was the case.”  Ilya reasons.  

     “There’s nothing we can do about it for now.  Let’s head back and report this, everyone needs to be on guard at all times or a lot of people are going to die.”  Anna says, looking bothered.  We all remember the massacre of the 23rd boss fight, where about a hundred players ran in to fight without any foreknowledge of the bosses’ abilities.  There were no survivors.

    My party, composed of some of the strongest players in the game, can get away with that.  We have the entire set of special magicians, and between their raw power and the merits of others in our group, we can deal with nearly anything at this point.  

    With fame, of course, comes the attention of the Organization.  I was wrong -- killing Blake didn’t shut it down like I had hoped.  With no other leads, we have been unable to stop them from growing stronger.

     We’ve only encountered them once, as they led an attack against a boss raid party seconds away from entering the room.  Their battle plan was sound -- trap them between themselves and the boss room, with nowhere to escape.

     They didn’t, however, count on us trapping them between two Frontliner parties...but they refused to surrender.

     It was a slaughter.  Twenty-five frontliners killed, sixteen Organization members slain.  The fight made one thing chillingly obvious, though:

     They were very, very strong.

     It took the combined efforts of Anna, Krona, Phoenix, and I to take down their leader.  Even then, he nearly killed all of us if it wasn’t for a last-second transformation by Anna, who had previously been avoiding using it to prevent friendly fire.

    And, according to the man’s last words, he wasn’t even a co-founder, just one of TWENTY elites.  The thought was honestly terrifying, but it pushed us all to be stronger.

    That was all we learned from the fight -- we had to fight to kill, or they would have destroyed us.  There wasn’t a good opportunity to take anyone alive.  

    I shake my head at the memories.  Between the Organization, clearing the next floor, and surviving, being a successful Frontliner is exceptionally difficult.  

    How long can we hold up under the pressure?

**  
  
**

    “Oi, Tyler.”  Andrew says when I pop back into our house.   

    The place itself is simple, if not large to accommodate for our needs.  The original eight of us -- minus, of course, Morena and Lindsey for obvious reasons -- pooled together the money necessary to buy a house.  

    Expensive?  Yes.  But the advantages are tremendous.  First of all, they are one of the few indestructible structures and will only allow in the people who are in the same party as the person who purchased the house (me).  This more or less grants us a safe base of sorts.

    While it is back on the 17th floor, we can access it from either a Teleport Crystal or the Teleport Elevator located on every major city, so transportation isn’t particularly difficult.

     And, of course, it’s...home.  A place to come back to and rest.  A friendly, welcoming, inviting place. 

     Ironically enough, of all the people, Ilya is the one who cooks for us, and she does an incredible job of it.  When questioned about it, she shrugs and says, “Practice.”  

     I more or less take this to mean that she had to play housewife for the Organization, which is something that amuses me to no end.

     Speaking of which...Ilya’s opened up a lot in the coming times, her aloof personality completely discarded.  The serenity I noted previously is the main facet of her personality, though -- she seems content to watch conversation on the sideline, but has no issue bringing in her own opinion and thoughts.

     It makes it easy for me to hang around her...simply because silences aren’t awkward at all.  We’re both perfectly content to sit outside on a grassy hill, watching the stars.  

     Oh, right.  Andrew’s talking to me.  “Hey.  What’s up?”  

     “Bad things.”  Oh, great.  And we haven’t even broken the news about the boss escaping, yet.  

     “Ack.  We have news of our own, so strategy meeting in five.”  He nods and departs as I open my menu, sending a party-wide message.

“SM.  Important.”  

**  
  
**

     It’s been a while since I’ve seen most of these people, so I take the time to go over what I know about them.

     Anna is...well, Anna.  Redheaded ditz, recently turned sixteen.  The first person I met immediately after the Great Release and a steadfast companion since them.  Read and memorized The Book, accomplished magician and swordswoman.  Seems to be somewhat extroverted.  Likes books, afraid of heights, hates vegetables.  The new Phoenix Magician.  There’s a bit more sorrow in her eyes than I would like.  Still affected by Morena’s death, Anna?  I don’t think you would ever forgive me if you knew the decision I made.  Made an interesting change to her wardrobe recently, a small gold necklace around her neck with a pink heart-shaped crystal attached to it, a memoir from Morena.  Goes nicely with her green dress.

    Krona.  Sky blue irises and short brown hair with plain clothes, a shirt and shorts.  Her bangs cover her eyes at times of rest, like now, and generally hide what she’s really thinking.  The few times I’ve managed to look her in the eye, I’ve been met with a wall of steel.  She’s an interesting one, to say the least.  Skilled with knives and incredibly fast -- at least as fast as Lindsey.  Has an incredible sense of timing and reflexes, as noted from as far back as the first floor boss, and she’s only gotten more skilled.  She seems intelligent and fairly confident, but definitely introverted.  Over time, though, she’s broken a little out of her shell.  Has excellent ranged abilities, as well -- elemental-infused and pinpoint accurate knife throws and the occasional shuriken.  Turned sixteen a few months ago.  A definite tomboy.  

    Phoenix hasn’t changed too much over time.  More or less relies on his broadsword, but he’s exceptionally good with it.  Uses magic to supplement his attacks.  Very, very good reflexes, and appears to be able to lead if necessary.  Seems pretty intelligent as well.  I think I could defeat him in a fight if it came down to it, but I wouldn’t want to try.  Works well with everyone, but especially so with Tony and Raffy.  I haven’t asked, but I would guess his age at twenty.  Somewhat childish on occasion and makes bad jokes.  Very bad jokes.

    Raffy, one of the two shields.  His eyes are an intriguing shade of purple, and his light brown hair is hopelessly messy -- two things that haven’t changed about him.   He’s different now, though, not as shy as he used to be, not as afraid to speak up.  He seems to be mostly over Morena’s death...but there’s still a deep pain in his eyes whenever her name is brought up.  He uses magic in conjunction with his trademark emerald shield, specializing in wind and earth to make him an excellent stall distraction.  Pretty mature overall.  Turned sixteen a week ago.

    Tony, the other shield.  He has short black hair and dark brown eyes that radiate a sort of seriousness.  He’s still a definite introvert, but seems to trust us enough to input his own opinion and information when need be.  Polite and quiet, though.  Always, unless in the presence of Raffy and Phoenix, where his walls seem to drop.  There must be a story behind it, but I’m not willing to probe.  Soon to turn sixteen.

    That’s all that remains of the original eight.  I sigh.  The girl next to me notices.

    “You alright?”  Ilya asks, concerned.  

    “Mm.  Just reminiscing.”  I respond.

     Ilya.   Fair skin, a small nose, full lips, onyx eyes with long black eyelashes.  I remember hesitating the first time I saw her because I hadn’t expected someone quite so pretty.  

     “About what?”  I glance at her curiously.  She isn’t normally one to probe. 

     “Our first fight, from the third floor.”  It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?  An entire year, and then some.  

     “Ah.  I’ve always had a question about that, but I never asked.  Why did you use the True Battle Trance?”  

     “You’re wondering why I sent Morena away?”  I confirm, to her nod.  “Simple.  Against you, she was helpless.  Hard Ice is her only effective defense, outside, of course, of Phoenix Magician...but the latter would have failed because of your fire resistance and your lightsaber could easily neutralize her crystal.”  Electricity turned the blue crystal brittle, and the lightsaber was entirely electrical energy.  “She wasn’t nearly good enough at a blade to fight on the same level as either of us.  With no defense, you would have picked her apart.”  

     “Hm.  I’ll have to admit I hadn’t thought that far ahead.  At the time, I assumed you were responding to the implied challenge of a really, really fun sword fight.  And we have to do that again sometime, I want to see how much you’ve improved.”  Ilya lives vicariously through her fighting.  That’s when the gloves come off and that’s when she really begins to enjoy herself.

    “Sure.  I have a question of my own, though.”  

    “Go for it.”

    “Why’d you hold back during our fight?”  Ilya shakes her head.

    “I didn’t.”  Her face seems open enough, evidence that she isn’t lying.

    “But...don’t you have your special True Battle Trance?”  Ilya cracks a smile.  

    “Hero’s Resolve isn’t the True Battle Trance.  They’re only barely related.”  No kidding.  One sounds infinitely more awesome than the cesspool of hate that makes up the True Battle Trance.

    “Hero’s Resolve...?  And that doesn’t explain why you didn’t use it.”  I wonder if I can learn it.  That would be awesome.

    “You can’t use that ability for selfish reasons.”  Ilya says.  “Defending myself against you would have counted as a selfish reason.  Just like the Elemental Magicians require some kind of emotional stimuli to switch forms, there are only a few times where I could ever use it.  I’m sure you can guess at it.”  

    “To save another?”  Ilya nods.

    “You can’t just believe they’re in danger.  You must legitimately believe they’re going to die without immediate intervention.  And it has to be someone you care about, deeply.”  The girl explains.  

     “Oh.”  This cheers me up somewhat.  

     Ilya laughs quietly, as if knowing what I’m thinking.  Perhaps she does.  We seem to have gotten pretty close as of late.  At the very least, she trusts me with her life.

     I smile slightly before moving on to the last three members of our party, far newer additions.

     Michael is a mystery to me.  He seems to be distinctly introverted, but, similarly to Tony and Raffy, open up more around his familiar trio, Andrew and Sylas.  He still uses a black cloak with flame motifs exposed, similar to Morena’s Phoenix Magician dress.  His hair is onyx, his eyes bright red.  Extremely intimidating, that’s for sure, but, like Ilya, seems relaxed.  Definitely a young adult.  He appears intelligent...but he doesn’t give away much from his expressions and actions.  He has saved me a few times during battles, though, so I trust him enough to watch my back.

     Of course, Lindsey did, too...

     Sylas.  He has distinct hair, the color seeming to match the hue of ice.  His eyes, too, seem like frozen shards.  His attire is...interesting, to say the least, a black robe with white fringes.  I’m almost tempted to call it a kimono.  There is a katana strapped to his back, the hilt seeming like simple steel.  Simple brown sandals cover his feet.  He is nearly as tall as Michael, but, unlike him, looks quite a bit younger.  I’d estimate his age to be seventeen.  He’s incredibly intelligent from what I can tell, nearly as smart as Anna...

     And that’s a huge compliment.  He seems to be somewhat lazy...and a little prickly around the edges.  But I’m pretty sure he’s doing it just to get a rise out of me...which irritates me more than his sarcasm.  Why, though?  What’s the purpose?

     I’ll figure him out eventually.

     Then there’s Andrew, who is virtually the opposite of Sylas.  Friendly and open, enough to remind me of Morena constantly.  His eyes strike me every time I catch them, the mix of green and blue mesmerizing.  His brown hair is reliably messy and goes down to his ears.  His fighting style is incredibly unique, using, of all the things, hand to hand combat.  He runs electricity through his entire body, giving him increased speed and strength while turning his entire body into a dangerous weapon.  When necessary, he uses a steel staff and metal throwing rods, which align with his entire style perfectly.  His Tempest Magician form is incredible...with movements that crackle with energy.  In that form, he’s faster than Krona and stronger than Phoenix, which is insane.  He doesn’t have many ranged options, but he doesn’t need them -- with his speed, he cuts distance blazingly fast.  

     “We’re starting this thing sometime, right?”  Sylas interjects.  Right on time, too -- two minutes after he sits down seems to be the limit of his patience.  I scowl.

     “Yes.  First off, you three.”  I point to where Phoenix, Tony, and Raffy are sitting.  “Anything?”  

     I don’t expect anything, considering that these meetings generally consist of occasional discussions on various things and, of course, the boss report.  I’m surprised, though.

     “Yeah, one thing.  Bryon’s dead.”  Anna gasps.

     “What?  How?”  Ilya speaks up.  He was a Frontliner, a very good one, but preferred to work alone.  Nothing short of an Organization ambush would kill him, though, he’s a Tracker.

     “Cause of death according to his profile is Stabbed.”  Phoenix says, closing his menu.  

     “Damn...that doesn’t tell us anything.  For all we know, it was suicide.”  I say, annoyed.  If it doesn’t say “Killed by player”, then he was either killed by a mob or himself.

     “It wasn’t suicide.”  Anna interjects.  “He was satisfied with life.”  The girl frowns at the sudden attention on her.  “We were just friends!”  

     “Right.  Anyways--”  I butt back in, cutting off anything that would stall the meeting, “You three?”  I say, pointing at the magician trio consisting of Michael, Sylas, and Andrew.  Bryon’s death is inconvenient, but overall unimportant.  

     “Fun, fun, fun as always.”  Sylas says drily.  “And by that, I mean nothing.  At all.”  I ignore him.  Taking the moral high ground will be good.  

     “Nothing of use.”  Michael replies, shortly.

     “Yeah, this was delivered to us a few minutes before the meeting.”  Andrew pulls out a few sheets of paper from his inventory and passes them to me.  In return, I pass them to Anna, who likes reading far more than I do. 

     It doesn’t take long for news to come in.  “The Organization’s growing bolder, Tyler.”  This, of course, immediately gets my attention.

     “What?  Let me see.”  Without asking permission, I snatch the sheets of paper back as Anna catches the others up on the news.

     It’s an...article?  Written by who?  There’s no name.  But the writing tells the story of twelve deaths on the twentieth floor...and the only thing left at the alleged crime scene was a featureless white mask. 

     Like the one Ilya wore.

     Like the one Lindsey wore. 

     “The information matches up -- all those players were killed by other players.”  Anna says.  “But...” 

     Most of us immediately catch on to her thinking.  “But there’s no proof it was the Organization.”  Ilya adds.  

     “It could’ve been anyone.  Those players could have been killed by others at any time and none of us can tell.”  Phoenix agrees.  

     “Not any time, Phoenix.”  Anna interjects.  “These names.  Don’t you recognize them?  We’ve fought with these people.”  

     “That means they were all Frontliners.”  Krona mutters.  “And that they were killed, recently.”  That’s a chilling piece of information.

     “Murdered.”  Michael interjects.  

     “But that’s no reason to make us think it’s the Organization.”  I say, not wanting to jump to conclusions.  “I mean, what’s an alleged crime scene?  Blood?  Dropped weapons?  That’s hardly difficult to fake, and it hasn’t been checked to confirm that those weapons belong to those people.  And, anyways, how do we check?  Those weapons are likely circulating around the market by now.” 

     “And that mask could have come from anywhere.  It’s not like they aren’t easy to get.”  Anna jumps in.  Plenty of NPCs sell various things, and stupid masks are some of the things you can purchase from them. 

     “We could send a small group to check things out.”  Andrew offers.

     “No.”  I reply.  “No, we can’t.  Because this leads us to our third and hopefully final issue, the boss scouting test.”  I frown.  “It wasn’t there.  The room was empty.” 

     This clearly isn’t the answer the party was expecting.  

     “What?”

     “How?” 

     “You actually looked at the whole room?  Like, with your eyes?”  

     “Oh.”  

     “None of you are helping.”  Ilya interjects drily, and everyone dutifully shuts up.  “It wasn’t there. and The Book more or less says that it has to be there.  So...we should be treating this as a special event.”

     That sobers everyone up quickly.  The last special event was on the eighteenth floor, where a massive invasion of Frontline-level mobs invaded the first ten floors.  Over five hundred people died in one horrific battle.  

     The worst part of it all was that at least fifty of those players didn’t die to a mob.  Player killed.  The Organization must have taken advantage of the chaos to pick off people.

     “Well...that sucks.”  Tony says into the silence.  It’s possibly the nicest thing that could be said about the situation.  

     “So...until we figure out where this thing is, we need to stick together as a group, and be careful.  We can explore that site on the twentieth floor...but I’m sure others will have the same idea.  You can’t be the only one who knows.  For now, though, it’s best if we stay here.”  I say.

     “In the house?”  Raffy asks.

     “No.  I’m not going to hide.”  I say, shaking my head.  “But I think -- or at least hope -- that the boss is somewhere on the floor.  Our mission is to find it and take it out before it kills off too many people.”  

     “Is that what Bryon was killed by?  The boss?”  Anna wonders, quietly. 

     Now that’s a scary thought.

**  
  
**


	3. Collapse -- Floor 25 -- Lindsey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's relatively minor swearing in here. This is the cut between Journey's End and Journey's End: II. From here on out things are slowly going to get more mature until it reaches M.

My new partner is suspicious of me right off the bat.  Rightfully so, I suppose.  I’ve taken down at least ten Organization members when the opportunity arose, and, to keep down suspicion, only two were my partners.  The other eight were during group assignments...where I may have, you know, accidentally missed, or...

      Well, you get the idea.

      “I’m a Tracker.”  Short threatens me.  It would be intimidating, save for the fact that he’s about half a foot shorter than me.  “Try anything and I’ll know.”

     Adorable.  He’s like, twelve.  I’d feel bad for actually killing him.  I can’t, though -- another Player Killed partner would lead to more suspicion.  There’s no heat on me yet, and I definitely want to keep things that way.

    “Uh.  Okay.”  Feigning ignorance is probably better than an outright denial.  We set off on our mission to take down another Frontliner party.

     To my credit, I almost never actually kill anyone during these skirmishes, using my paralyzing needles whenever possible to disable rather than poison.  It’s too bad it’s so obvious when someone is alive, or I’d come up with some kind of false-death poison to sell it further...but most of the time, my partner will finish off everyone I’ve paralyzed.

      And I have to play up my strength as an Elite, so I can’t pretend to be weak and force my partner to do all the killing.  My last two partners have both been Mage-types, so it was absurdly easy to stab them in the back during a Frontliner killing mission, paralyze and short-term memory wipe the opposing group, and run, claiming that I needed a partner that wouldn’t hold me back.

      Ethan apparently suspects something.  I do not think this Tracker partner is a coincidence.  Or perhaps I’m reading into it too much.  

      I think I’ll take my leave soon...but I want to hold out a little more.  The Organization seems like they’re planning a large move, and I want to sabotage it before I escape.  That’s probably my best move.

     And...when I leave, I’ll...

     Then what, Lindsey?  What will you do?

     Tyler.  I’ll find Tyler.  He’ll tell me what to do.  

     And...maybe we can be friends again?  I don’t know what everyone else feels about me.  Hell, I don’t even know what to make of the way he left me.

     A kiss and a whispered word?  

     What does it mean?  What does it mean?

     Live.

     This ultimatum you leave me with.  

     What do I mean to you now?  Do I mean anything to you?  Well, of course I do.  But is it good?  Bad?  Do you really think that I’m...disgusting...?

     Rather than breaking down in the middle of a hunt and a mission, drawing even more suspicion, I blank my mind and feel the familiar weight of the Battle Trance hovering over me.

     It’s rather addicting, the ability to not feel a thing.  This isn’t the first time I’ve abused the ability to assuage my self-doubt, and it certainly won’t be the last.  I just have to remember not to hold it for too long, or I’ll die.

     With a flick of my wrist a knife slides into my left hand (It’s not a sleight of hand trick, just a preprogrammed action to pull a weapon out of your inventory).  This immediately makes my partner whirl around, his hand on his sheath.

     If I was going to kill you now, it wouldn’t be that obvious.

     “We’re nearing our target.”  I say blandly.  “Is it wrong for me to prepare ahead of time?”  

     My Battle Trance is imperfect.  I can’t completely clear my emotions, just the ones that can hinder survival.  Most of them, but certainly not all of them, and confidence isn’t one of those.  

     Or, apparently, straight up arrogance.

     Short scoffs and turns back around, obviously tense.  

     Some icebreaking is in order.

     “Are you named Short because you’re short?”  I can feel the anger stewing off of him.  Oh, this is going to be too easy.

     “Or is it referring to something else?”  My voice is as bland as possible, taking a leaf off of Tyler’s psychological warfare.

     “Would you keep it down?”  He hisses at me, refusing to look at me.  I grin.

     “How far down do you want me to keep it?  Like, your height?  Because that’s a little too low-”  He growls, spins around, and kicks at me.  

     I block with three fingers and punch him in the face.  

     I’m not super strong, but he’s pretty light, and at the time of attack we had been crossing a catwalk twenty stories up.

     Yeah, the twenty-third floor is a construction site.  An honest to god construction site, with metal walkways and rope everywhere to create some kind of permanently unfinished superstructure.

     The impact of my hit sends him reeling over the edge, but he manages to catch a hand on the edge of the catwalk.  

     “You crazy bitch!  I knew you were a traitor!”  He seethes, apparently deciding that going for his sword with his free hand is more important than climbing back up.

     “You attacked me first.  I was just defending myself.”  I reply, petulant.  “And I can’t trust a teammate willing to try and kill me...so you’ve really left me with no option here.”  

     I flip the knife in my free hand and stab it straight down into his exposed fingers, severing two of them.  To my shock, he doesn’t let go immediately, choosing to charge his blade with lightning and slash right through the metal bar that I’m standing on.  With no support, it splits right down the middle.

     I saw it coming a mile away...which is why I jumped a bar over.  A five meter standing jump, at this point, definitely isn’t out of my reach.

     He cut the own bar that he was holding onto, and its collapse pulls him down with it.

     I watch as the shattered bar and the boy falls, all the way down, before smashing into the ground.  The crystal shards of his death erupt at the bottom, nearly hidden by the cloud of dust that follows the impact.

    Then I make my way back down in order to retrieve my knife.  

    Gutsy, and admirably pain-resistant, but stupid.  

     

    Ethan just looks exasperated when I return, again, sans partner.

    “He attacked me first.”  I say as an explanation, and he sighs.  

    “You’re too volatile for the weaker ones.”  Another sigh.  “Just...stay here.  Until I find something for you to do solo.”  Great.  This is good.  I can’t kill off any Organization members easily this way, but this is good.  I’ll be closer to the big thing I can tell is coming, if the increased activity is of any indication.

    “Okay!”  I guess Ethan really wasn’t skeptical.  That’s good.  He’s far too intelligent to sneak anything past him if he had even the slightest suspicion, but that’s not a problem as he doesn’t suspect anything.  Or, if he does, he’s hiding it very well.  

     I’ve studied the people around me closer, so I can read them better.  So I can read all people better.  So I can protect myself from getting betrayed.  

     Karmic backlash, maybe, but...I don’t believe in fate.  Just will.  

     I don’t think he’s lying.  I’m very confident that he isn’t.  So, if I’ve pulled one over him...then I really have.  He doesn’t know.  

     This is good.  This is very good.

     I’m shown to my room by some kid that seems terribly afraid of me, mentally shrugging before dropping onto the bed.  

     Sleep is good.  Filled with nightmares, but good.  

     My dreams rain blood again.


	4. Talent - Floor 25 - Tyler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dullness of the last few chapters ends with this one.
> 
> Bear with me.

“I honestly thought you were joking when you brought this up.”  I tell Ilya.

     “Don’t be silly.  Why would I do that?”  Ilya sends me a duel request that I accept without hesitation.  We’ll be able to hurt each other this way, but after the fight we are restored to our original state.  

     “No restrictions?”  I ask, to clarify.  

     “Nope.  Come at me.  True Battle Trance and everything, if you feel like it.”  I shake my head.

     I haven’t used that power since losing Morena.  Ilya managed to stop me like it was nothing and with zero hate.  That’s the kind of power I want. 

     The countdown reads fifteen.

     I want to be strong like Ilya.  To be a force of nature like nothing else.

   Three...

     Can I?  Can I be as strong as you?

  Two...

     I want to find out.  I want to be able to protect my friends.

     One...

     Hero’s Resolve, huh?  

Start!

     I immediately start off with a Flash Draw.  It’s my go-to move for initiating fights and has significant kill potential.  My hope is that she isn’t prepared for the sheer speed of the technique.  

     The raw version of the technique I used all the way back at Floor 1...wasn’t Flash Draw.  That was a wholly imperfect version and I deserved to be knocked right out of the attack.  It probably looked intimidating, but, in reality, I had to commit a ridiculous amount of mana to put that force behind it and it was far slower than it is now.

      The next time I used it in a real battle was Floor 3...but, considering how the attack destroyed my mana reserves, it was hard to get much practice and wasn’t much better.  

      But I recognized the deadly potential of the ability and abused Mana Potions to train it constantly.  And now...now, it’s perfect, used in conjunction with Ice Form to create a truly deadly attack.

      From the duel timer hitting zero to my reappearance on the other side of Ilya, ten meters away, only 0.643 seconds have passed.  To my disappointment, though, sparks fly past, indicative of Ilya having quickdrawn her lightsaber and deflected the swing at a truly inhumane speed.

      ...To be able to recognize the nature of my attack and react in time to counter is impressive.  But I can do that too.  I whirl around, an Ice Crescent Slash already on the tip of my sword as Ilya’s lightsaber burns dangerously close to my throat.  

      The projectile knocks her back a step as she’s forced to block, but she quickly regains her balance and begins a rapid dance of death, flicking her blade at nearly untraceable speeds.

      For an untrained eye, that is.  I’m good enough and quick enough to react in time, parrying and blocking.  She’s using a full offensive stance, leaving herself open to attack, but the issue is that I can not find any openings.  Her swordsmanship is flawless.  

      So I have to create an opening.  I knock her flashing blade out of the way with a dense ice gauntlet before somersaulting in an attempt to slash her open with the blades on my feet.  Ilya dodges in time, her blade slashing lightly across my chest as a reprimand, and I’m forced to block as it flicks towards my head again.

       “Wasted movement~”  Okay, she’s enjoying this too much.  My foot stomps the ground, mid-parry, as a bastardized version of Lindsey’s old AOE attack freezes the ground around us in a five meter radius.  

        A second stomp sends ice spikes stabbing through the ice, and only Ilya’s rapid leap away saves her feet from perforation.  She frowns, looking down at her feet.  I guess she didn’t entirely get away.  

       “Wow.  I need to get boots.”  She comments.  I snort.  

       “Sneakers aren’t entirely practical for fighting on the elements, you see.”  They’re not bad, of course.  It’s just that my weakest attacks can rip through them like wet paper.  

       And to someone like Ilya, mobility is her life.

      My own shoes are armor plated with flexible sheets of metal.  My soles, of course, are covered in ultradense ice.  

     Time to try something new.

     I coat my blade in electricity and hurl it at Ilya, expecting her to block, and I’m not disappointed.  In a basic form of Flash Draw, I draw a third sword and dart forward, clashing my blade against Ilya’s.  

     Well, what I do doesn’t officially have a name.  I just call it that.

     One sword knocked up into the air, one sword locked with hers, third one slashing down at her torso, blocked.  I force her back and throw the third sword over my shoulder, grabbing my first one out of the air and lunge forward again, slamming my second blade against hers as she’s forced to knock the thrown one upwards and block my blade.

     She’s forced to knock the sword up with a downwards parry, because my swing comes in milliseconds after her block and I aim high.  If she blocked any other way, she wouldn’t be able to get her saber up in time to stop me from decapitating her...and she can’t duck, because I’d overpower her and knock her to the ground...and with my speed it would be over.

      “You know what’s happening.”  I state as a third repetition of this cycle occurs.  “The question is, can you do something about it?” 

      “Sure.”  Ilya says, and then she catches my sword out of the air.

      Oh.

      Ilya giggles.  “The expression on your face right now.”  

      “You weren’t supposed to do that.  I was waiting for you to dodge.”  I say, dumbfounded.  Had she done so, I would have switched to a Flash Draw as she was midair and she would be too unbalanced to fully block.  

      “And get slapped out of the air by Flash Draw?  No thanks.”  Damn.  She’s good.

      As expected.  

      I guess it’s time to kick it up a notch.

      “You didn’t notice, did you?”  Ilya asks.  

      “What?”  

      “Look down.”  I glance down obligingly...and stare.

      My shirt is covered in electric burns.

      Electric burns that draw out a crude square smiley face.

      “When?”  I ask, shocked.  And, honestly, a little disturbed.  How didn’t I notice?  Nothing actually hit me, it’s completely superficial, but...

      “Way back at the beginning, before the AOE ice ability you pulled off.”  I only noticed one of the slashes.  Just one.  And this must have taken at least...eight.  

      “Oh, don’t look surprised.  We both know I’m stronger than you.”  It isn’t even an arrogant statement.  I knew it was true.  We all did. 

      But seeing it happen like this, laid out so openly and obviously...

      The air grows warmer as I drop my Ice Form.  The colors grow brighter as I drop my Battle Trance.  A metal clang as both swords drop to the ground.  

      Ilya looks on curiously as I pull out the fourth sword attached to my back, and this one is dramatically different.  

     “What is that?”  A black blade with an obsidian hilt.  The whole blade seems to absorb the light around it, darkening the world ever so slightly.  The edge is thin, giving it the appearance of a fragile light weapon.  It is no such thing.

     “This is the Riftwalker.”  No mana.  I can’t externally use any of it.  Instead, my mana is drained and converted into pure energy, increasing my strength and speed substantially.  This was the boss drop from the fifteenth floor.  

     Time to test.

     I dash forward, surprised at my speed -- this is faster than Ice Form! -- my blade clashing against Ilya’s.

     And, clearly, both of us underestimated my new strength.  The hit sends her sliding back, much to her alarm.

     And there is no delay in swing speed.  I’m not a berserker.  

     This must be what Andrew feels like, sans sword.  Extreme power and speed at the same time... 

     Ilya recognizes the threat and immediately starts backing off, throwing chakrams at me.  They don’t even slow me down -- a swing midair and I tear them in half like tissue paper.  Even a densely ice-coated chakram, her strongest element, is shattered with a devastating swing.  

      It only takes me five seconds to catch up to her, and from there I begin the dance anew.  

      It’s a whole different ballgame this time.  She can only deflect my blows, not full-on block them.  If she tried, I’d send her flying.  And I swing faster than her.  

      A bad block on her part forces her off balance and gives me the time to pull off a dangerously risky down-vertical swing that she has no choice but to block.  The ground cracks underneath her from the force of the blow as she hisses in pain and jumps away.

     She couldn’t have possibly given me a better target.  The brute-force equivalent of a Flash Draw bats her out of the air and sends her into the ground, bouncing like a rag doll.

     Ouch.

     I don’t give her the time to recover, though.  I dart forward as she springs to her feet, slashing forward-

     And she disappears.

**  
  
**

    Or...

    “How on earth did you get up there?”  I ask, watching as she hovers five meters off the ground and well out of my reach.  

    And then I see it.  The faint haze by her feet.  Her bare feet?

    “You’ve got to be kidding me.”  Her shoes are lying on the ground where she disappeared, abandoned.  How she slipped them off, I have no idea, but I know how she’s flying.  “You...when did you take up the Wind element?”  

    “Just now.”  I gape.  She isn’t lying.  There isn’t a sign of it on her face...and she looks ridiculously pleased with herself, a real smile on her face.

    “Goddamnit.”  I pull off a knife from my belt and hurl it at her.  She dodges with ease, taking out a Healing Crystal.  

    “You broke my ankle.”  The pink crystal shatters in her hand.  She’s buying time, then, for her foot to heal.  

    It’s a better strategy than I think she knows.  This mana drain is going to get to me, quickly...and Mana Regeneration potions take time.  It won’t outstrip the rate of decay.

    I drink one anyways, to buy myself some time.  

    “How’d you figure out how to fly, anyways?”  I ask.  Is she some kind of natural magic genius?  She just...picked it up.  

    “I wanted to fly, so I did.”  She makes it sound so simple!  It took weeks for me to achieve the same level of mastery in Ice as she’s demonstrating in Wind!

    I sheath the Riftwalker, walking over to my previously discarded swords to pick them back up.  That should stall the mana drain from hurting me further...but I suspect I’ll wind up using more anyways.  

    “Ooh.  What are you doing?”  I’m drawing a nice little pentagon around the spot she’s hovering in with my sword, as she waits for her ankle to patch itself up.  

    “Magical things.”  I reply drolly.  “An exorcism.”  Playful joke, you see.

    “Ow.”  She says, mock-wounded.  

    Yeah, I can’t actually do anything cool with this pentagon.  It’s entirely a bluff.  As it is, though, I can’t get her down from there.  I could throw projectiles, physical and magical at her, but I’m sure she’ll enjoy blocking and dodging those with ease.  She has too much space to dodge, and with no way to limit that...

     Gah.  This really sucks.  I need to improve my repertoire.  I have plenty of utility projectiles, but nothing that works on a person flying.  

     Something quick or widespread.  Hm...wait, I have something like that to use.

     Could be a bit destructive, though.  Oh well!

     I move under Ilya, who floats away, watching me curiously.  I throw both of my swords at her.  She blocks rather than dodge -- it doesn’t matter.  I just needed them out of my hands to do this.

     Pointing my palms in the air, I build up controlled fire mana and release it.  Dozens of fireballs explode out of my hands into the air.  

     “You miss-”  Come on, Ilya.  I know you’re not that silly.  Boom.

     Every single fireball splits up into five, like a firework, blasting through the air, so that there’s about three hundred small fireballs in the air.  And all of them are in Ilya’s general location.

     Dodge that one.

     The sky is filled with fire, and it has to come down somewhere.  I watch, motionlessly, as the dry grass of Floor 17’s isolated wilderness area explodes into flame.

      I drink another Mana Regeneration potion as I watch the entire field catch alight.  My own natural fire affinity makes me immune to my fire (and my clothes are fireproof!).  

      The smoke clears out of the sky, but Ilya’s nowhere to be found. 

      Hm...

     My Tracker senses catch something as I panic, quickdrawing Riftwalker barely in time to deflect a blade that was made nearly invisible by the fire.  But, even amongst the sound of the flames surrounding me, the sound of a lightsaber flickering on is unmistakeable.  

     I don’t even need to ask.  She drank a fire resistance potion.  Ilya appears like a ghost, walking through the blaze.  

     “You’re persistent.”  I comment.  

     “You’re better than I thought.”  She raises her left arm, revealing healing particles surrounding it.  “You got me before I could get the resistance potion down.”  

      This makes me feel marginally better.  Of course, all my progress is about to be erased by the Healing Crystal she just used up, but, still.  

      It’s actually progress.  You can only use two Healing Crystals in a twenty-four hour period or it will instantly drain all your mana and knock you unconscious for a few days.  But a damaged arm would have been far better.

      Can’t let her stall now while that arm heals.  She needs to be grounded.  I can’t let her get in the air, because fire is my only anti-flying trick.  I dash forward as she jumps away, letting me push her away by blocking as she rises into the air.  

      And stops, because I have a grip on her ankle, and my next movement involves me pulling down and slamming her into the ground with brutal force.  Immediately, I stab towards where she hit the ground, and miss.  She’s disappeared into the fire again, and the flames distract me enough to prevent me from seeing her. 

      Grr.  This isn’t helping me.  I revert my energy and build up my mana for a second before stomping, creating a wave of ice particles in all direction that wipes out the flames in a nearby radius.  I hear Ilya curse -- the attack must have caught her as she was retreating.

     Yup, her leg seems to be affected by the ice, enough to where she can’t take flight.  She hits the ground with a painful thud but manages to remain standing.  It doesn’t matter, because my Flash Draw goes right under her guard to slash into and through her ribs.

     Or I would have, if her lightsaber wasn’t in the way, but at least my hit forces the saber out of her grip.  Same trick, though...except, this time, a chakram nearly decapitates me as it flies in from the side, and I’m forced to throw myself backward, in absolutely no position to block whenever.

     Ilya manages to take flight again, a long electrical burn down her face.  I must have forced her own blade into her skin when she tried to block my forceful attack.  

     She touches it lightly, hissing in pain.  I stare, unrepentant and, honestly, a little pissed.

     “Where did that chakram come from?”  I didn’t register it until the last second.  If I wasn’t a Tracker, it would have ended the fight. 

     “Secret.”  Ilya says, grinning.  There’s no way she should have been able to do that.  I don’t understand...when?  And how? 

     I’ll have to ask her later, it seems, since she refuses to tell.  At a loss, I pick up her fallen saber and store it in my inventory, at least keeping her from that advantage.  Then I’m back to thinking.

     There’s always...that.

     I didn’t think what I’m about to do could possibly work earlier, but I’m out of options, so we’ll try it.  I sheath the Riftwalker and make a series of swipes with my hand.

     In an instant, a weapon appears in my outstretched hand, ready to fire.  

     “A bow?  When?”  Ilya asks.  

     “Since the sixteenth floor.”  I pull a steel arrow from the quiver on my back, pointing the bow at her direction.  It’s a beautiful black recurve bow, one I picked up from a dead player.  I’ve practiced with it in my free time, figured out how to use it effectively, but never thought it would ever come in use.

     I was an idiot.

     “You don’t think you’re actually going to hit me with that, do you?”  Ilya asks.  

     “No.”  I tell her.  “I know I’m going to hit with it.”  Then the ground under me rumbles, I’m launched up ten meters into the air, and I shoot her out of the sky at point blank range.


	5. Q/A - Floor 25 - Lindsey

 I wander around the base, bored.  

    Or, at least, pretending that I’m bored.  I’m probably doing a very good job.  Acting is something I’m getting better at.  It’s a necessity for me, spending so much time around Ethan.  

    This subterfuge bothers me.  I want to stop pretending and start being me, wanted to ever since Tyler befriended me, but I can’t.  I need to do this.  For Tyler.  

    People give me space, though I don’t think I look particularly threatening.  I guess, considering my partner death ratio and how most of the missions I’m sent on lead to losses, people have started considering me as some kind of bad luck charm.   

    Good enough with me.  I don’t want to get to know anyone well.  

    “You killed him!”  A woman’s voice screeches from somewhere behind me, and I sense and dodge the incoming blade, letting the thrown knife sail over my shoulder.  I stop and turn around, facing my assailant.  

    “Oh.  You.”  I say, almost disinterestedly.  Elena, one of the nineteen remaining elites, hisses back at me, a wiry blonde woman that uses interesting bladework.

    “You killed my brother!”  Whoops.  Didn’t think I had taken down anyone of importance.  My mistake?

    ...

    ...Nah, still not important.  

    “Actually, he killed himself.”  This is true.  He slashed through the metal bar, not me.  I might have led him into that position, but I hardly think that I deserve all of the blame.  He attacked first and last.  

    “Don’t make excuses!”  So unbalanced.  And she’s an elite?  I miss people like Flint, who was both powerful and emotionally stable.  Too bad Tyler’s party took him down, I actually liked working with him.  He wasn’t stupid and didn’t make stupid mistakes and left me more or less alone.  

    “Do you actually have any proof that I killed him?”  I ask.  “No?”  She sputters.  “It’d be nice if you could stop wasting my time, then.”  I spin around on my heel, walking away.

    This is what triggers her.  Her heavy footsteps are what alert me -- unprofessional.  To think she’s an Assassin.  I wait for her to lunge at me, knives outstretched, before making my move.

    Blood drips across the ground from a slash across her face.  A move I took from Ilya’s fighting style -- invisible kiting, where you fight while maintaining an invisibility shield, causing you to seemingly flicker.  All I did was step sideways and backwards, but it looks like I teleported.  

    “Don’t bother.”  I tell the girl, my rapier resting lightly against her spine.  “Don’t do it.”  

    She relaxes, dropping her weapons immediately, and I lift my blade.  Everything’s okay...until she turns around and wraps her gloved hand around the blade of my rapier, pulling me forward.  

    I don’t pull back or let go, like she wants me to, like how I would if I didn’t know what she was doing.  I just take a second step forward and ram my blade into her chest.  

    Her bladework is complicated.  Two standard swords, but there’s so much misleading action that she does and so many unorthodox moves that she overwhelms most people on her own, especially if you haven’t seen her fight before.  

    None of that matters with my sword at point blank range, with her disarmed.  I was supposed to panic. 

    I don’t panic.

    I rip my blade out and let her body dissipate into shards.  If I didn’t know better I could have sworn I saw the ghost of a smile on her face.

    But that doesn’t make sense.  Why would she want to die...?

    Footsteps alert me, and I turn around, bloody rapier raised.

    And pause, because Ethan and a squadron of elites are trailing behind him, looking outraged.

    I realize what this looks like.

    “Well.”  I say, pausing.  

**     “Shit.”    
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, I know. Things will start picking up next chapter.


End file.
